


Follow Your Heart

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV), Thumbelina (1994)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-15
Updated: 2014-06-15
Packaged: 2018-02-04 18:15:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1788499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Someone wanted a Sherlock crossover with Thumbelina.  So this kinda happened.<br/>I don't think there'll be anything more, but IDK.  FEoF is my main priority right now.<br/>Also, ignore John's face and hair in the picture.  I messed it up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Follow Your Heart

                                                     

 

Our story begins as all stories do: with the opening of a book.  It ought to be a small book, impossibly tiny, for it is the impossibly large story of two impossibly small men.  But then, if you have ever listened to the swallows overhead you might know that nothing is impossible if you follow your heart.

Once upon a time, there was a lonely woman who longed to have a child of her own.  One day, she paid a visit to a good witch who gave her a tiny barleycorn.  “Plant it in a flowerpot,” she said, “and see what happens.”  The woman did what she was told and by and by it began growing.  Until at last it held a little bud.

“Oh, what a pretty flower!” the woman said.

Indeed it was.  It had beautiful, crisp red petals and a healthy green stem.  The woman was so overcome by the marvel, she bent to kiss it.  And where she kissed it, the flower bloomed and opened before her eyes.  Inside, lying quietly in the pollen, was a boy.  The boy had soft, light hair and wore a neat shirt with a blue waistband.  He yawned, opened his blue eyes, and smiled up at his mother.  He was not at all shy or confused and loved her dearly already.  ”Hello, Mother.” He said.  His voice was warm and gentle.

The woman let down her hand and he climbed upon it.  With a funny skip he grabbed hold of her thumb.  He was nearly the same size!  The woman smiled sweetly.  “I will call you Thumbelina.” She said.

‘Thumbelina’ made a less than agreeable face.  “I’m sorry mother?” He said.  “Thumba…thu…what?”  He tried his best, but he could not say his own name.

“A bit difficult, love?” She asked.  She was a little disappointed.

He shuffled nervously in her hand, pulling at his little white shirt.  “A little.  Have you another name in mind?”

She tapped her lip.  She might call him ‘Tom Thumb’ but perhaps it would be best to leave out the ‘Thumb’ bit.

The boy watched his mother’s deliberation.  “A simple name will do.” He offered.  “Not too hard or long, but nice.”  He was afraid he was being picky.

“John then.  I knew a John once.  He was a very nice young man.”

John smiled.  It was a good name.

So John it was.  John and his mother lived on a small farm in the French countryside.  Between them and the city were few houses, large windmills and lovely green and golden hills dotted the countryside, and the sky was an open blue.  But life in the quiet countryside was anything but peaceful for such a small boy.  For you and me it is already a big world; imagine all the trouble it might be for someone no bigger than your thumb.

John was not a quiet boy, despite entering the world that way.  He was adventurous.  He liked danger.  His poor mother was constantly pulling him out of pies before they went into the oven or lowering string between the floorboards to pull him up.  He could constantly be seen riding on the back of their old dog, Gladstone, or hanging from the cow’s ring.

Still, he was a very good boy.  He did his best to help his mother around the farm.  There were figs to be picked and chicks to feed and the whole house to sweep.  Sometimes he wished he could be bigger and of more help.  “Bigger.” He thought.  He’d just been reaching up to pick a fig when he realised it.  He looked around.  His mother was big.  Gladstone was big.  Even the tiniest chick was larger than he was.  John began to wonder whether he was the only one his size.  His heart ached.  He stared up at the fig.  Even it was bigger than him.  Sadly, he sat on the edge of his mother’s basket.  He didn’t much feel like trying for it anymore.

Every night, John’s mother would tell him a story.  Most of the stories were about Gladstone and they all loved those best.  But John had been thinking hard all day.  “Please, Mother,” he said, “aren’t there any stories about…about _little_ people?”  Even if they were only in stories he might feel less alone.  He sat brooding on his mother’s spectacles.

“Well as a matter of fact there are, John.” She said.  She looked down and opened an old book.  John went tumbling off of her spectacles with a startled whoop.  She righted him and placed him on the pages.

John gasped at a brightly colored illustration on the page.  It was a tiny man with a crown.  He was standing by a sort of house made out of a mushroom and there were funny things growing out of his back.

“They’re little!” He exclaimed.  “Just like me!”  He ran up the page for a closer look.  “But what are those for?” He pointed to the things on the man’s back.

“They’re wings, love.  These are fairies and fairies have wings so they can fly.” His mother said.

John walked in a sort of jig across the page.  On the left, there was a picture of a king and queen fairy.  They were walking hand in hand.  They were too elegant, too sweet to be real.  “Mother, have you ever seen a fairy?” He asked.  There was a noticeable doubt in his voice and he whispered it as if someone might overhear and call him stupid.

His mother squinted out the window.  She tried to remember.  “Well, I thought I did once.”  Though it might have only been a firefly, she knew.  When she saw the hopeful look in her son’s eyes however, she decided to keep it to herself.  “Here, the fairy prince and princess are having a wedding.” She said, explaining the story.

The story did not need to be told.  In fact, John didn’t want to hear it.  He decided to make up his own ending before he could hear any of it.  “And they lived happily ever after.” He interrupted.

His mother chuckled down at him.  “Usually, dear.” She said.  Around her neck she wore a little golden necklace with a heart.  She fiddled with it momentarily.

John gazed down at the fairies on the page.  The artist had drawn them so happily.  He could see the love in their faces as they stood, forever waiting to be married.  He was happy for them, but he felt the ache again.  Looking at his hands he knew there would likely never be anyone small enough to hold them.  “I suppose it works best if…”

He stopped.  He sat on the page, staring wantonly at the picture.  “If two people are about the same size.”

“Yes.” His mother hesitated.  “Of course.”

“Yes…” John echoed.

The woman watched full of pity as her son slowly stood and paced the page.

“Well, that’s not fair.” He mumbled.  He looked over his shoulder at his mother.  “I must be the only little person in the whole world.”  His eyes were wet and he sat to avoid her seeing.  If only, if _only_.  “I wish I were big.” He said.

“Oh, no, John.  No.”  She said.  How could she help her poor boy?  “Don’t ever wish to be anything but what you are.”

Gladstone gave an encouraging bark from his bed.

John gave a little nod, mostly for his mother’s benefit.  He could still wish it to himself.

She put a hand down to him.  “Bedtime, my dear.” She said.  “It’s been a long day.  You ought to go to sleep now.”  She spoke softly as John climbed on in silence.  Things would be better with a good night’s sleep.

Across the room, placed in a cradle-bed, was a small bed in a walnut shell.  This was where John had always slept.  His mother tucked him in under his soft blue blanket and kissed him.  “Sleep tight.”

He reached out a hand.  “Mother?” He burst.

“Mm-hm?”

He folded his hands together, pleading.  “Would you please leave the book open?  I want to look at the pictures while I go to sleep.”

She carried him over to the cluttered table and opened the book.  John could easily see the painted figures by the moonlight in the window.  He lay back in his bed and they bid each other goodnight.  She made sure to tell Gladstone to take good care of him before going to her own bed.  Soon the room was dark and quiet.

John crept out of his bed and stood in front of the book.  The pictures were even more beautiful in the moonlight.  He sighed and began to imagine what it would be like to talk to someone truly like him.

In a moment of whimsy, he bowed to the fairy by the mushroom house.  _If only he could smile back, he thought._   For a moment, he believed someone, somewhere one day would smiled down at him.  That someone would be sure to find him someday.  “Maybe soon.” He said.  He waltzed slowly to his window.  It had a pretty border of colored glass.  He swayed and watched his reflection, calling silently for that someone.  His mother had once told him that a rainbow would always follow after the rain.  He hoped he’d have a nice ray of sunshine soon to bring him that rainbow.  He was already going through the stormy weather.

He sauntered back to the book.  There, in the corner, the prince and princess were walking—no, dancing.  They were dancing their way to the alter.  He danced alongside them, not bothering to consider whether or not it was a silly game of pretend.  Just tonight he could do it.  He could dance with someone and imagine himself a happy ending.  If only that someone could hear him calling.  If only they could call back to him.

John hugged himself and imagined they were someone else’s arms around him.  But there was no one to kiss him.  He looked at the graceful couple on the page.  Somehow he could not resist the idea.  He leaned shyly against the book and kissed the prince’s cheek.  It wasn’t a satisfying thing to do.  It made him a little sadder.  He’d just been dancing for a piece of paper.

Cold, he hugged himself again.  “I wonder if there really are such things as fairies.” He said.  He did not believe it.  Still, the longer he looked at the page, the better he began to feel.  Soon he was happy enough to hum.

John hummed to himself and danced before the book.  _After all,_ he thought to himself _, it’s better to be happy by oneself than to be unhappy by oneself._   He was pretending to dance with the prince, the more handsome of the two characters.  They were at a ball held for no reason at all other than to be close for one night.  They’d been dancing and talking for hours, long past the time the ball ought to have ended.  But then a ball can’t last forever and a prince must go back to his duties.  He tutted, disappointed.  “You have to go now?” He said.  It sounded like he was begging the prince to stay.  Just five more minutes.  The prince would not be able to give him five more minutes.  “I see.” John grumbled.  “You are a wonderful dancer.”  He bowed and turned to find another partner to dance with, but first he stole a look back.  “Will I ever see you again?” He asked.  The prince must have said yes.  He turned and began to hum to himself again.

Suddenly, John heard a ripping sound and a quiet chuckle.

“May I cut in?” A baritone voice asked.

John gasped and turned around.  Someone was in his room!  He ran away from the book to find a place to hide.

“No, wait!  Come back.” The voice pleaded.  “I apologize.”

John did not wait or go back.

“I didn’t mean to frighten you.”  There was a tisk and the sound of sliding metal.  “Will you come out?”

But John did not see.  He was hiding inside of his mother’s teapot amid the clutter on the table.  He looked up, frightened to see that the lid had not been put on properly.  A face popped up in the crack and looked down at him, smiling.  It was a man.  He drummed the fingers of one hand on the rim of the top, amused.  John didn’t stay long to look.

John slipped as quietly as he could out through the spout, watching the stranger carefully.  The man was still looking for him inside the teapot.  John could not help but notice the sword tucked in his belt.  He had one foot out of the spout before the man turned around.  John ran back toward the book, cornered.  He was frightened of this stranger.  He was big.  He was a bit taller and he had a sword.

 _Wait a moment._   John took a second look.  This man who stood before him was strange.  He had dark, curly hair like anyone might.  He had blue-green eyes which a few people might have.  He was a bit thin like many people.  He was nicely dressed in violet. But there was something very different from him and most people.

“What are you staring at?”  The man asked.  There was an odd look on the other’s face which made him a little uncomfortable.  Like an animal in the zoo.

John saw the things on his back flutter as if embarrassed.

“Well, say something, will you?”  He hopped down in front of him with a small, shimmering cloud of dust.

“You’re!  Oh!” John gaped.  “You’re one of them!” He pointed to the drawings in his book.  He had wings!

The man with the dark hair leaned forward, not quite understanding this other person.  “I beg your pardon?  One of who?”

John was a bit flustered.  Had he fallen asleep?  Was this a dream?  There, not two inches away (which was a good distance to him) was another person just his size.  Relatively speaking.  The man was a bit taller.

He suddenly didn’t know what to say.  “I thought I was the only one my size in the whole world.” He whispered.  He still believed he was.  He shook his head.  This was impossible.

He heard a snarl from a chest next to the table.  Gladstone had heard the commotion and come to his defense.

The stranger leapt back in front of John and drew out his sword.

“Gladstone, no!” John shouted.  He ran in front of the man, waving his arms at the dog and trying to lower the sword.  “No, he’s a friend!  Look.”  He was terrified of loosing this person before even getting to speak to him.  He gave a slight bow, fumbling over himself.  “H-hello.  My name is John.” Gladstone was still snarling.  “How do you do, sir?” He continued.  His heart was halfway in his throat.  What else could he do to make this look friendly?  “T-thank you for, uh, for coming to visit!” He managed.

The man was visibly confused, a bit concerned for the other’s mental well-being.  He was beginning to have second thoughts about this meeting.  Still, he played along, offering John the benefit of the doubt.  “No trouble at all.  The pleasure is mine.” He said, sheathing his sword.  He risked a bow at the large, snarling dog.  He did not honestly think it made any difference.

The dog sniffed at him, satisfied, then rested his head on his paws.  The pair waited until he was snoring to stand upright.  John’s face was horribly red from the excitement and embarrassment.  The man smiled at him and considered John a funny sort of man.  Charming though.

“Sorry about that.” John said.  He stared down at his hands.

The man quirked an eyebrow.  “John.  It’s a nice name.”  A light flashed across his wings.

“Thank you.”  John was so glad he’d talked his mother out of the other.  He stopped being embarrassed for a moment to look his guest in the eyes.  They shone with excitement.

“I’m Sherlock.” He said, proudly. He stood a bit straighter and his chin turned up.

John snickered.  “Sherlock?”  It was ridiculous!  “That’s an amusing name!”  His hands flew over his mouth as Sherlock glared at him.  “I-I-I-I mean it’s perfect.”  He wanted to kick himself.  He looked down at his hands again.  _This might be the only other person like me in the world and I’m already insulting him.  Brilliant._

Sherlock inspected John.  He seemed an alright sort.  _Easily upset at times, adventurous but likes the quiet for thinking.  Bold.  Nice hair.  No wings…_   He decided he liked him.  Really he’d decided that from the window earlier, but now he had no doubts.  He clasped his hands behind his back and circled him.  He reached out to further inspect him only to rush his hands behind his back again when John turned around.

“Tell me about the fairy court.” He said.  There was a court in the story with all kinds of fairies.  Maybe there was a real one with other fairies.  He snuck a glance at the prince in the book.  “Is there a…a prince?”

Sherlock flinched for a moment.  His hands suddenly seemed to be very interesting.  He looked them over and wondered about all the different ways he could bend his fingers to make shadow puppets or tie knots.  He felt John staring, waiting for an answer.  He stole a look back.  The look John was giving him made him suddenly feel important.  He shrugged.  “Yes.”  His pride was healing fast.  Still, he wanted to hear more. Not that he really heard what John was thinking, but it was plain on his face.

John looked out at the window.  There really was a prince!  “He must be terribly handsome.” He mumbled.

Sherlock’s wings gave an involuntary shimmer.  “Oh, he is.” He said.  He crossed his arms and listened carefully.  There was the hint of a smirk on his face.

“Strong and brave.”  John hardly remembered the other man was there.  He was busy imagining dancing with the prince.  Maybe he really could do it.

“None like him.” Sherlock agreed.  He turned all the way around to watch.  He was thoroughly enjoying himself.  Tickled pink.

John was looking at his hands, imagining they were holding the prince’s.  “I would love to meet the prince.” He said.  He looked up, suddenly aware of how close Sherlock was standing.

“Oh, I’ll tell him.”  Sherlock was grinning from ear to ear.

“T-thank you.” He was coming closer.

“Oh, you’re welcome.”  He was almost there.

John whirled around at the sound of buzzing.  Sherlock groaned.  “What was that?” John asked in surprise.

In a tone of annoyance, Sherlock grumbled.  “That’s my bumble.  I left him on the sill.  He doesn’t like staying in one place too long.”  He made a mental note for the hundredth time to teach the bee the meaning of the word ‘stay’.

“A bumble bee?  May I see him?” John asked.  He didn’t wait for an answer before tugging Sherlock out the window.  There, black and fuzzy and yellow, was a bee with a saddle on his back.  He gaped at it.  “He’s amazing!”

Sherlock frowned as John pet the bee.  _He’s_ amazing?  He would show John which of them was truly amazing.  “Would you like to take him for a ride?” He offered.

John hesitated a moment before nodding.  He was sure his mother would worry.

Sherlock led him onto the bee’s back by the hand.  “Come on then.”

The bee buzzed loudly as they settled on.  Sherlock gave it a nudge.  The bee started to beat his wings rapidly to lift them into the air as John watched admirably.

“I wish I had wings.” He said under his breath.

“Maybe someday you will.” Sherlock said.  He liked this unusual man.  He’d never met a fairy without wings before.  He was a puzzle for him to solve.  A very intriguing puzzle.  “Hold on.” He warned.  He gave an extra nudge to go faster.  He caught John’s arm as he went barreling back.

“Be careful!” John shouted.

Sherlock pulled his arm around his waist.  “I told you to hold on.”

John wrapped both arms securely around Sherlock’s waist.  His head spun as the world blurred around them.  He was going off to who-knows-where with this strange, unpredictable man and he didn’t know when he’d be back.  Somehow, he was okay with it.  He hugged him tighter.  The fairy prince vanished from his mind.  He was willing to go with this man wherever.

Sherlock kept one arm over John’s.  He wanted to take this man home.  He wanted to introduce him to his court.  Mostly, he wanted him to stay with him.  He decided then and there that he was determined to keep him beside him, this warm, unusual man.  So he made him an offer.

“Let _me_ be you wings.” He said.

John looked at him with wide, enchanted eyes.

“Let me be your only love.”

John could not believe what he was hearing.

“I’ll take you beyond the stars if you stay with me, John.  I offer you whatever you dream, whatever you desire.  Anything at all.”

John felt he must really be dreaming.  They’d only just met!  And yet, he could not have waited any longer for those words.

“If you let me love you, I will love you more every day.  And I promise to never stop.”

The earth below looked so strange in the moonlight.  John hardly recognized the farm or fields below.  He almost wanted to go home.  Sherlock might stay with him there.  The night was dark and full of the unknown.  They flew through it all on the bee’s back.  Then, Sherlock jumped off, pulling John with him.  He fluttered his wings, carrying them both through the air and they began a sort of aerial waltz.

“Leave behind the world you know.  I can offer another world of wondrous things.”  He leaned back into John and laid his head on his shoulder.  “Fly with me and I will be your wings.”

John was in heaven.

“Stay with me,” Sherlock concluded.  He pleaded.

John smiled.  “Maybe someday soon.” He said.  He could never leave without a proper goodbye to his mother.

Sherlock’s face fell.  “Do you promise?”

“Yes, I promise.”

Sherlock smiled back.  “Then I guess we’d better get you home.”


End file.
